by Sean Clark
The woman tossed the white linen in his lap before pouring a splash of the liquid over the wound. Zethurus flinched, attempting to pull his arm away. “Hold still, it’s just water mixed with some ash. The burning will last for a while, but it should flush out any malignant energies in the wound.”
Shiloh leaned his head around to see the water bubbling and melting away the rancid blood. “Why has the wound continued to bleed?” He asked. “It was almost two weeks ago since he received it.”
“Are you familiar with the term ‘mage blood’ Mr. Shiloh?” Charlstine avoided the question and glanced back quickly from Zethurus.
“Of course, it’s… any people born of the magi race, able to perform spells and such. All of those whom you represent under the Order.”
“Correct, but… only partially so.” Charlstine said while nodding slowly. With the cloth in her hand, she carefully dabbed away the excess liquid from Zethurus’ wound. “The blood that runs in our veins, mage blood, is different than that of your own, Mr. Shiloh. It is the source of our power, traveling throughout our bodies. It allows us to summon that which is in our heart; the scorching heat of fire, the coldness of ice, the torrent of wind and lightning.”
“Or if one’s heart contains an umbra of darkness?” Shiloh posed, catching Zethurus’ glance over Charlstine’s shoulder.
“Indeed.” The Arcanus stared down at the freshly cleaned wound. Surrounding the fine incision where Zethurus had been nicked by the sword was a dark lump of mutated flesh, pulsating slightly. “What do you remember of the moment you received this wound, Zethurus?”
The mage looked up into her eyes, blinking rapidly. “Nothing.” He muttered. “It’s all a blank.”
Shiloh grunted. “The same excuse he used with our commander.”
Charlstine dug her thumb into the bruised flesh around the wound. “Let us see about that.”
Zethurus flinched in response, unable to pull his arm away. “I remember…” Zethurus finally spoke. “…darkness… just darkness, and the cold. When I came to, that knight… the one called Mandabus… had collapsed on the ground. One of the others attacked, and I was forced to flee.”
“Such a convenient tale.” Shiloh scoffed.
“It is hard to say so, Mr. Shiloh.” Charlstine rebutted. “I don’t feel the darkness in this man’s heart. Cowardice, perhaps, but not darkness. That knight, on the other hand….”
Shiloh tapped his foot loudly and avoided eye contact with the other two. “Explain.”
“The dark energy likely originated in that man.” Charlstine began to explain, staring into Zethurus’ eyes. “It doesn’t take any practice to sense that. However, it was likely your very own magical blood that conducted the energy, causing you to react violently. It would have then… reflected back towards him.”
“I pray you’re not simply doing this to protect your own kind, Lady Arcanus.” Shiloh paced around the small room.
“Have you ever seen lighting strike the point of a tall building, Mr. Shiloh?” Charlstine asked, glancing back at him. “Magical energy wants to find the shortest path to another source. It seems that… Mandabus, and Zethurus were a perfect match for each other.”
“Zethurus, would you be so bold to confirm this?” Shiloh looked down at the mage, who bit his lip as the cleaned wound continued to burn.
“Would you really accept my word at this point?” He said, seething.
A loud knock came to the door. Chin pushed his way inside before a response could come. “Charlstine, we must discuss the nature of what has taken place.”
Loudly, the Lady ripped a strip of cloth from the linen and wrapped it tightly around Zethurus’ wound. “Please be patient.” Charlstine said without offering Chin a look. “We shall be down at the hall shortly.”
Chapter Twenty Seven: Dark Energy
“Mr. Bently…” The Arcanus paced around the table, her eyes locked on the soldier. He sat quietly, his arms folded and helmet removed. “I pray you can tell us your account of the attack on the Tuleforian settlement at the base of the Sing Mountains.”
“They fell to us with little resistance.” Bently boasted. In his peripheral vision, he could see Shiloh glaring at him.
“When did you encounter the mage, Zethurus?” Charlstine asked.
“Our captain, Mandabus, first encountered him. When we descended upon him, it had seemed Mandabus had been bested by the mage’s power.”
“How well did you know your captain, Mr. Bently?” The Lady continued her line of questioning.
“Our lieutenant knew him much better.” The knight shrugged. “When I was offered once again a position on the front, I knew him only for his reputation and our limited time on the battlefield.”
Shiloh huffed and called Bently’s attention over. “And then the man was presented with a suit of armor to allow his violent tendencies to be unleashed more effortlessly on our forces.”
Zethurus pushed at Shiloh’s side, urging for him to sit back down. The Arcanus slowly strolled up behind Bently, placing her hands on the shoulders of his suit of armor.
“While I cannot condone your war, I understand that empathy isn’t something you are expected to bring with you to the battlefield. With you, Mr. Bently, though… I sense a lot of thought is put into your every motion.” Charlstine said, her eyes closed in focus. “You may be a warrior at heart, but honor and mercy are things you won’t allow yourself to forgo. You swing your sword for your country, and not simply to see others bleed. Should I make extended contact with your captain, Mandabus, would his being tell the same story?”
Bently shrugged Charlstine’s hands off his shoulders. “The dark energy he was exposed to poisoned his heart.” He rebutted.
“Or could it be that his heart was like that from the beginning?” The Arcanus asked rhetorically.
“Chin, why do you have nothing to say?” Bently jabbed at the mage.
“I must agree with her.” Chin shrugged, quietly sucking on his pipe.
“Mr. Shiloh,” Charlstine turned to the Tuleforian men. “Seeing that we have determined that the crimes of your mage are not of magical nature, I shall allow you to return to your home so that he may be punished the way your superiors see fit.”
Zethurus released a slow breath and relaxed back in the chair. With a quick glance, he could see Bently glaring at him, his gauntlet forced into a ball.
“We of the Order shall continue our possession of Mandabus in order to determine the nature of his… status.” The Arcanus said plainly. “Mr. Chin and Mr. Bently, you shall be free to remain or leave. The people of Arkyan will accommodate you either way.”
Bently ungraciously pushed his chair back before marching up the stairs behind him to his room. Charlstine lowered her head. “I shall leave you to make arrangements.” The Arcanus delivered her final statement before marching to the back of the long room.
Shiloh grabbed at Zethurus’ arm for them to stand when Chin called out. “I beg you to stay for one moment longer if you wish to be aware of something important.”
Zethurus landed back down in the hard chair. Shiloh leaned forward against the table. “Make it quick. I plan to have us back on the front before nightfall.”
“I’m telling you this because you’ve earned my respect as a warrior.” Chin huffed, spilling purple smoke from his nose. “The encampment you plan to return to is likely no longer held by your people.”
Shiloh banged loudly on the stone table. “What do you mean?”
“The general under whom I serve had planned an attack on the front as soon as the snow had let up. He is leading a squadron of elite guard with more enchanted armor on your settlement, likely as we speak.”
Shiloh grit his teeth and turned to Zethurus. “I will not lose more of our men like this.” He said, yanking the mage up from his seat. “We must leave at once.”
Chapter Twenty Eight: How the Walls Fell
A loud pounding on the door awoke Kiaren. She had dozed off staring at the maps on the
planning room table. Silvus pushed through the entrance as she lifted her weary head, the marks from her sleeve still pressed into the side of her face. “My dear, I believe we are expecting an attack.”
Kiaren stood drowsily, pushing the chair back against the wall with a clatter. “From who? Where from?” The commander forced her way past Silvus and scanned the tall walls of the settlement.
Silvus grabbed at the woman’s trim shoulders and pointed her south. “Up on the rocks coming out of the pass,” he pointed. “There is some force assembled there.”
“Xiandol. They’ll come to the side gate, no doubt.” Kiaren said. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the dark mob forming just above the tree line.
“Are you sure?” Silvus returned. “There’s hardly enough room to fit an army through such a tiny space. They wouldn’t be so foolish.”
“Your lack of experience with the forces of Xiandol would have been your downfall if I were not here.” Kiaren shook her head in an exaggerated motion. “They know of it. It was left open after the first attack took place. Fortify the south wall with your most competent bowmen, and then you may watch them descend upon us.”
“Our numbers are clearly greater than theirs.” Silvus said, motioning at the tents set up around the encampment. “It was fortunate that I arrived when I did, before they had a chance to gather up more of their forces. They still think we are weak, reeling from the first attack.”
“Xiandol’s plans of attack do not merely rely on numbers, but rather on how they make use of the strength they have available.”
“You talk as if you are unsure of our victory.”
“I am merely talking from my experience. Victory doesn’t happen until every last one of their men is overcome or retreated again to the other side of the mountain.”
Boughlin waved at Scarborough to move his horse forward to the side of the formation. Kensley nodded at the thin man from the top of the ridge as he passed by the rows of stationary soldiers.
“Sir!” Scarborough called up.
“After my men have been led to the gate…” Boughlin instructed, looking back between the two knights. “You two shall meet at the other entrance to make sure that they are unable to escape.”
Kensley tightened his grip around the banner’s pole in anticipation. “Understood.”
Boughlin nudged the sides of his horse with his toes, making the animal turn and face the rows of armored men, standing like statues. “Mr. Kensley, they will move at your discretion.”
Kensley peered down at the slope, dotted with thin saplings, bushes and rocks, quietly charting out a course for the horse. He swallowed hard and readjusted his grip on the wooden instrument in his gauntlet. With a loud cry he yanked on the reins of the horse with his free hand, making it jolt forwards.
The rows of solders shouted out in a deafening cry as he passed in front of them and down the slope. The horse banked and hopped between the obstacles. Kensley could hear the thin fabric of the banner flapping in the wind, and the pounding of the armored footsteps on the ground behind him.
As he exited the brush and landed in the clearing, he turned his head to the sides to quickly gauge the situation. The soldiers had begun to pour out after him, their clean formation holding just barely. Scarborough’s horse dragged behind on the right, headed for the main entrance farther ahead.
Kensley focused on the tall walls and gate ahead of him. Atop the structure were bunches of men, crowded into the posts. He lifted the banner as high as he safely could, pointing it in the direction of the gate, built of thick timbers. Kensley flinched as an arrow made contact with his shoulder, bouncing off the armor plating with a loud metallic ting.
Kensley yanked hard on the horse’s reins, pulling the animal right. The men rushed the gate past him, their war-cries echoing about the valley. The walls shook as the armored soldiers began piling their weight against it, each pushing harder against each other. Kensley closely followed the wall north to the larger of the two gates, where Scarborough had already skidded to a halt.
“Finally, some excitement.” The thin man nodded.
Kensley began fiddling with the banner, wrapping it up around the pole to secure it. “Indeed.”
The walls shook, and the dirt in which the thick timbers had been buried slowly began to work free. Silvus paced around his men, who had arranged themselves in neat rows facing the gate structure. The yells of the men on the opposite side of the walls were almost enough to deafen any orders passed out.
Kiaren grabbed at Silvus’ shoulder, pulling him back away from the cacophony of the gate. “It won’t hold.”
“You were not wrong about the Xiandolans.” Silvus laughed. “Attempting to breach out defenses with manpower alone.”
“When they do, your men will not stand a chance.” Kiaren grit her teeth, gazing into Silvus’ eyes.
“They are experienced, and are wearing the best armor Tulefore’s blacksmiths could fashion.”
Kiaren shoved her hand against his chest, drawing his eyes to hers once again. “You don’t fully understand. Did you see the man leading them here?”
“The one with the banner of the badger, yes. Should that worry me?”
“It’s that armor. A few of my men who survived the first attack Xiandol carried out know it. They have taken to calling those who wear it Dread Knight.”
“Explain.”
“It is enchanted with powers you could never conceive of.” Kiaren explained slowly. “I have reason to believe those other men… that unit… could have similar weapons and armor.”
Silvus turned his back and shuffled uncomfortably, rubbing his face. “Sounds like superstition of cowardly men.”
“How many men are you willing to throw at these forces to determine if it is the truth or not?”
“Are you saying we should just retreat?”
Kiaren shook her head and began marching away towards the front gate. Silvus quickly followed after her, trying to match her pace.
“Open the gate!” Kiaren called up to the few remaining guards at the rope mechanism of the structure.
“What are you planning?” Silvus said, having finally caught up.
“There’s a reason they chose not to attack here.” Kiaren announced, waiting for the sides of the structure to fold outward. “Even though the smaller gate is sturdier, they knew we would end up packed in tight at the corner of the encampment. If we fought them here, we could have easily split them up rather than face that mob of soldiers.”
“I shall grab some of my men so that we may flank them as they break into that gate.” Silvus quickly formulated.
As the gate opened, Kiaren spied Scarborough and Kensley on the other side. Kensley quickly slid down off his horse, planting his feet on the compacted soil. Scarborough dismounted as well, tapping at the horse to have it walk away.
Kiaren grabbed at the weapon bound to her side, the magical Katzbalger. Silvus pulled the great-sword from the holster on his back. “Stand back, Silvus. These are the men I’ve warned you about.”
Scarborough began to tremble as he reached for his short sword holstered at his hip. Kensley waved his arm back at him. “I shan’t have you pass through here.” He called out to the Tuleforians.
Silvus charged Kensley, swinging his sword before the knight could pull out his own. The great-sword met with the enchanted armor with a dull thud, barely moving Kensley. Silvus recoiled, his hands wavering from the blow.
Kiaren stepped forward and placed herself between the two men. “I will not let you take any more lives this day!”
Kensley unsheathed his sword. Kiaren had hardly the time to blink when he charged. Her sword met his just before he could make contact with her body. The Katzbalger held fast against Kensley, who recoiled in surprise.
“Well, what do we have here?” Kensley balked, regaining his footing.
“Silvus…” Kiaren crept backward, her eyes still stuck to the two knights. “Go direct your men. I can handle them.”
“Not two on one!”
Scarborough had pulled out his sword, carefully placing himself in the gateway. A few of the Tuleforian guards at the gate had approached around, lining up at Kiaren’s side.
Kensley loosened his grip and placed the tip of his sword downward into the dirt. “Your own walls now hold you hostage. What will you do, Tulefore?”
Kiaren moved closer to Silvus and began whispering in a low voice. “There is a way to escape from here, through the tunnels in the mountain. My men know the way out so that we may retreat.”
A loud crack and shattering of wood echoed throughout the encampment, and the shouts of men grew louder. Scarborough inched towards Kensley; his voice low. “Sounds as if Boughlin’s guard has made it through the gate. Shall we attack?”
“Our orders were to prevent them from escaping this way. If we get caught up in trying to spill blood, then we will become quickly overwhelmed if they decide to pour out.” Kensley whispered. “Besides, there is something about this woman. I believe she is their commander.”
“A woman?”
“Did you not see her block my attack?” Kensley nodded at the thick weapon in Kiaren’s hand. “Any regular sword would have shattered, even with me holding back.”
“It is like one of our own, then.”
“Quit whispering, Xiandolan scum!” Silvus called out.
Kiaren elbowed him. “Your men should be your focus right now. Go!” She ordered. “Remember what I told you!”
Silvus bit his tongue and shook his head. Kiaren glanced at him as he retreated into the camp, before turning her eyes back to the two knights. “Xiandol has suddenly become quite bold in recent times.” Kiaren shrugged. Her knuckles had gone white as her grip on the handle of the sword tightened in anticipation.
Kensley continued to stare at the woman with scrutinizing eyes. Scarborough fidgeted, his swords tapping against the tassets of his armor.